Stuck In a Moment
by Kristen999
Summary: After many requests, I wrote a second part to this story.Denial is the enemy. Nick battles himself. Post Season 6 Themes. NickGrissom Friendship. Ch 2 Up
1. Chapter 1

Title: Stuck In A moment

Author: Kristen999

Category: Angst/ Character Study

Spoilers: General for season 6. "Gum Drops" and Season 5' "Grave Danger"

Disclaimer: All rights belong to CBS and all their fine writers. Please don't sue. This is just for fun.

Summary: Denial is the enemy. Nick battles himself. Post Season 6 Themes. Nick/Grissom Friendship.

Notes: This is a character examination during season 6. A Major coda specifically to "Gum Drops" However it's not exactly what's been written before. I tired another approach, I hope people enjoy it. Please let me know your thoughts.

Big Thanks to Tinkerbell for her swift beta. A buddy told me it had been two week since I wrote something. I just had to fix that.

* * *

Nick felt his back brush against rocky soil as a sharp piece of granite dug into his shoulder. He could feel the harsh side of it cut through his coveralls- not enough to tear the fabric, but he pushed his weight further, ignoring the the fresh sting as the rock dug painfully into his flesh. He tried to create as much distance between him and the body, both huddled in the trench together. Nick's left leg lay straight out in front of him, his knee throbbed from where he twisted it after he had lost his footing. His right leg was bent upwards, huddled against his chest, one hand wrapped around it to secure it close.

That was a little less than half an hour ago- a lifetime, it seemed. He rubbed the palm of his hand over his brow. The sweat trickled down into his eyes and he squeezed them closed as they stung. His perspiration was mixed with the dust and grime of spending too much time with a corpse and its final resting place. Nick shivered. The blood pumping through his veins had to be made of ice; how else could it explain why he was freezing?

Breathe. Slow, long breaths.

Nick felt his heart beat faster, his pulse skyrocketing at every second that ticked by. His eyes darted around him, trying to look anywhere but the damn skeleton. Its flesh had rotted away some time ago. The body had been devoured by soil and natural elements. A simple part of a natural life cycle. He felt little bits of dirt crumble from the ground above and drift into his hair. He fiercely ran his hand over his head, knocking the particles away. His chest began to tighten; his breathing became more ragged.

Nick looked up into the dawning night, seeking sky and fresh air. Lungfuls of precious, precious oxygen. Freedom, it was all above him. Nick lifted his hand, and stretched his arm upwards, waving it back and forth reinforcing the concept of openness around him. The sound of a cricket chirping brought his attention back to the staring skeleton. Half of its form remained part of the soil, only its skull and chest exposed to the air. Nick felt a pounding in his head.

_'It wasn't the same. It wasn't the same.'_ He said it like a mantra.

How long had this soul waited for death? Three careful hours of removing dirt, preserving the dump site. A lot of time to spend with the remains, but not for the first time, not even the hundredth. The victim had not been shot in the head- that much he could tell. Nick's brain always began to examine the evidence as it was uncovered, grasping at any fresh detail. It wasn't until the smell of dirt mixed in with the rising heat of the soil and the droplets of sweat rolled down his face, soaking the T-shirt underneathhim, that things started to become familiar.

Nick's hand had frozen, his brush clasped between tense fingers. The sight of the empty eye socket staring at him and imagining the mouth wide open in shock as to whatever happened to it. The sides of the trench seemed closer, the depth of the pit deeper and the quiet of the air almost deafening.

It was just a hole and nothing more.

His brain didn't seem to register that basic notion. Instead, despite his assurances to remain calm and he tried counting backwards in his head to focus on anything other then the idea of being trapped inside the death pit. Nick's breathing did not calm. His sense of dread made him nauseous, and the scent of dirt slowly turned into something more rotten. All of it was a trick of the mind, but when your heart is beating so fast that you can hear it thunder inside your chest, and the once large opening seems to be closing in on you- that's when you drop your tools, turn around and start scampering up the the fucking hole to escape everything around you.

Recalling what triggered his anxiousness was a bad idea.

_'Its not the same. It's not the same.'_

It doesn't help and Nick feels the panic all over again, because now its getting dark, and the sky is no longer a nice shade of blue. Soon it's going to be evening, and he won't be able to see, and who knows what creepy crawly things will burrow out of the earth to seek something to munch on. Again, this is really silly, and it never bothered him before, but try telling your brain that when it begins sending you all sorts of danger signals. Nick stood up, his right leg protesting the added weight. His knee was so swollen it could barely bend.

He hobbled around to face the front side of the trench. It took a bulldozer less than an hour to scoop up nine feet of dirt, and it was so stupid of him to clamor out of the hole as fast as he did. Maybe if he had taken his time, let the numbers reach zero in his head, then he wouldn't have been so clumsy and his foot might not have slipped and wrenched his knee so badly. Nick wasn't thinking about anything but getting out.

He began to ascend the ladder resting along the inside of the pit again. He maneuvered his good leg onto each rung, and pushed up on each step and ignored the white hot pain. He clenched his jaw tightly and continued to move, one tiny step at a time. It was a crazy balancing act and once he started to put weight on his injured leg, it collapsed under him. A yelp of pain escaped his lips, only after three steps of scaling upwards, he tumbled back down hard. Curled up on his side, his hands clutched his twisted knee, his face moist from the agony. Nick stayed crumpled on the ground, his face mere inches from the bones that had started this whole ordeal. He closed his eyes wishing he had never had that fight with Grissom.

* * *

"Can I have a word with you?"

Nick hated it when he did that. It was the same feeling as being asked to enter the principal's office. Sometimes all he wanted to say was NO. It was politeness. People never intended for the subject of such a question to ever argue, having it phrased as such was to put you at ease, but all it did was set him on edge. Nick smiled, he always did, and entered inside the office, his supervisor closing the door behind him.

Never a good sign.

"Good work the other night. I know it was a fairly messy case, but you guys solved it in under two days." Grissom was perched up against his desk, his gaze friendly.

Nick nodded, waiting for the inevitable.

Grissom's eyes darted down at a closed file, and slowly made their way back to his gaze. It was at that precise moment when Nick realized how quiet the small little room could be. It never bothered him before, but every slight noise was a dozen times more noticeable in the stillness of the confined area. He swore he could hear the the tiny patter of feet on glass, wondering which specimen was crawling around in each container. Nick always focused on the voice of the person talking with him, but at that moment he couldn't help but guess where that slight scraping sound was coming from.

Yes, it was scraping, little legs moving through some kind of mulch, dirt, or sand. Specimens were rarely contained in just a glass environment and his ears kept perking up whenever he detected the tiniest of taps, or were they digging sounds?

"Nick?"

Suddenly all the white noise blurred back to a formed single word.

Shaking his head, he stammered, "What? I'm sorry. What were you saying?"

Grissom just stared at him, his face scrunching up perplexed, maybe even slightly annoyed. It was always hard to tell.

"I asked you how you felt things were handled?"

Nick fidgeted in his seat. "Fine. Sheriff wasn't too cooperative, the equipment was hard to deal with, and we had a problem with the possible search, but in the end everything turned out all right."

Grissom nodded, even though there was something more hidden in the gesture. "It's nice when you can find one of them alive. You made some interesting connections."

No, this wasn't concealed praise.

When Nick had not added any additional comments, Grissom tapped the file folder over his knee. The sound of paper on fabric was just enough to drown out all the other little distractions. Even the noise of chewing paper was silent, coming from somewhere, not sure which aquarium, one of them definably. Feeding time. Nick let his eyes stray over to the large glass unit on the far corner- maybe it was that one. Grissom blinked. He turned to see what his subordinate was staring at and once he found the object of the distracted attention, he exhaled slowly.

"Nick?"

Damn, he had to stop doing that. Nick began to absently rub his arm up and down.

"Grissom, do you have something on your mind? We leading somewhere?"

The supervisor shrugged, pushing off the desk and moved around to his chair where he took a seat. "No."

Grissom stared down at his desk, rearranging the files there that probably didn't need any straightening. Without looking up this time with his voice almost too casual, "Do you think you've adjusted back into the field fairly well?" His fingers leafed through a ledger, as if it held some significance.

Nick rested his elbows along the arm rests, his body bent forward. "Been doing just fine."

Grissom's hands paused from his paper shuffling. "You know I don't expect everything to go along perfectly. No one does."

Nick wasn't going to be baited. "There any names to these 'no ones'?"

The supervisor arched an eyebrow. "I haven't accused you or anything, Nick."

"Okay." He glanced over at the door, yearning for a hasty retreat.

The scurrying sounds were making his skin crawl. If he could just pinpoint the source, it wouldn't be such a big deal.

"We haven't talked in a while." Grissom's voice held an almost sorrowful tone.

"You had to go out of town." Nick let out a small laugh, it didn't sound right.

"I'm talking about lately."

Nick shook his head bemused. "Did we ever?"

Nick couldn't tell if that was a flinch and it didn't matter anyway, it wasn't supposed to come out that way. If it had been a reaction, Gil Grissom was still sitting perfectly normal, stoic and as undeniably still the mere unempathetic boss.

The next words caught him off-guard.

"I'm trying, Nick." It was said in a half sort of sigh.

"Why?" The words flew out of his mouth before the thought that processed them was even finished.

"People change. Even me." He sat back, waiting.

"I'm not trying to." Nick was staring at his hands, spinning the large silver ring around his finger.

"You can't control how you've been affected. No one can possess the ability to command emotions like that."

Nick felt his chest burn. "Why's that?"

"Even after a few months, to show no outward reaction only means two things. You've suppressed everything or you're hiding it. One or the other."

It was the matter-of-fact tone that must have sparked it. Nick still didn't know what 'it' was, the little trapdoor that concealed his more fiery side was a new anomaly of late. He jolted up, the chair nearly toppling over from the abrupt force. Nick slammed both hands onto the front part of the desk, leaning over, his breathing much more rapid than before.

"Did you read about this type of thing? I mean, you're an expert if you happened to study a few articles. Hell, study enough of them, maybe then people will pay you to lecture about them, since that's all it takes to become an expert nowadays."

Grissom remained calm, he crossed both arms over the desk. His eyes were the same deep blue they always were. "Can I ask you a question?"

Nick licked his lips, contemplating, but he knew he would respond. "Sure."

"Do you think this outburst over such a simple question would have occurred several months ago?"

Maybe it was because he had been asked that very same question only a day or so ago, or maybe it was because he knew what the answer was. But none of it mattered very much. Because at the same time he could hear his heavy breathing, could feel the tension in the way his arms were taut from pushing on the desk. His mind kept trying to identify which fucking little creature had been getting on his nerves the entire time.

Grissom was waiting for a response. The only one he got was Nick silently straightening back to his full height, casting an odd look over at the corner of his office again and then exiting the office without so much as a word.

* * *

Part of him didn't want to be so close to the bones, out of some insensible fear that he might contaminate them- with what he wasn't sure. Dust filtered into his mouth with each breath, his lungs scratchy from the tiny irritants. He coughed, expelling the fragments out of his airway. The smell again filled his nostrils and it was enough for him to force his way onto his back.

This wasn't hopeless- he 'knew' hopeless. Far from it, but the stench of the ground was a bit overkill and with his eyes pointed only upwards, the stars now in full view, the acceleration that was his wildly beating heart and the crazy intake of of air lulled him a little.

He wasn't alone. Far from it. There was a disinterested cop wondering around the perimeter. The problem was that the circumference of his patrol was quite large. They were out in the desert in the burial grounds of some murderer. This hole wasn't the first of its kind out here. No, this was the sixth one, five more spread out the dusty plain. Several more units scouring the layer of soil to unearth another similar skeleton.

Nick knew that everyone else was busy extracting their own DB, taking as long to toil and remove the surroundings of each final resting place. Budget cuts, lack of manpower, he didn't care which excuse it was this time around. Overtime had been his constant companion of late, and he welcomed it with open arms.

If he just had his cell, then everything would be over in an instant. The really gut-busting moment of it all was that his phone was at the top of the pit. He had been pretty pissed when he began his descent, not wanting to feel like he was being checked in on. He purposely left the damn thing out there next to his kit.

He longed for its shrill tones now. Of course it wasn't ringing and there was no need for anyone to verify if he was just being an asshole or if he needed anything.

Nick let go of the death grip over the front part of his leg. He carefully extended it out, quickly retracting it as it screamed bloody murder for being stretched by any means. He groaned and rolled back to his other side, not the one facing that damn group of bones. No, this time he had the pleasure of staring at another pile of compressed dirt.

The layers of soil quivered with his every breath, in and out, like the walls were ready to crush him at any minute.

He couldn't turn or face any other direction. One way was the damn pile of bones staring, probably screaming at him at the unfairness of their reversed situations. Or maybe it had been smiling, knowing Nick was tasting something it thought he had never experienced. He hated to break it to the DB, but he knew about this far too well.

Nick looked up at the steel ladder, just an ascending set of steps out of the pit. No way was he going to accept defeat and just wait for someone to notice his absence, not that he gave any reason for worry. He had just thrown all of their concern right back in their faces.

Nick took a deep breath and forced himself into a sitting position. Groaning with the obvious effort, he was satisfied at the progress. He rested his hand over his injured knee, feeling its larger mass, almost sensing the heat pulsate beneath his palm. He massaged it a bit, and tried to placate the sharp throbbing sensation.

It was darker now. His flashlight was next to his phone. Nick laughed. It was such a absurd situation and of course it just happened that he was the one to slip off a ladder and get trapped with a skeleton in the middle of some ditch. He felt angry again- no one else would have had a problem with it.

The irony of it all.

Instead of waiting, knowing that eventually help would come, Nick hobbled into a standing position. He kept his left leg almost slack, leaning all his weight on the right one. He hopped over to the ladder and began the painstaking trip upwards again.

_'It wasn't the same thing.'_

He kept telling himself that as he glanced back behind him at the mocking piles of potassium and at the hollow ground below him. Nick placed his right foot on a step, then raised his body up, resting his left foot for a second before lifting his right one onto the next step.

It was a slow process... patience. He just needed patience.

Nick ignored how his arms trembled, his harsh breathing and his ligthheadedness. He felt every pain-filled moment on the ladder. No matter how excruciating the effort, every inch further away from the grave was more distance from any more time trapped in another underground prison.

* * *

Nick swung the evidence kit in one hand, his camera banging lightly over his chest with every step. The whole team parked their SUVs a good quarter of a mile away. Construction vehicles rolled over the desert stretch, kicking up debris, filling the air with a loud banging racket. A murder suspect in a series of homicides had finally confessed after a week of mounting evidence.

Only the unfortunate bodies remained to be discovered. Their jobs entailed the meticulous task of obtaining more physical clues that had been swallowed by the ground. The graves had been spread out over a two-mile radius. As the team walked, their little group became smaller. Every new site that had been dug up by construction crews revealed enough of the skeleton for careful removal. One of them would grab their equipment and head down the hole. Nick walked briskly in the heat of the desert. The sun was would be down in a few hours, and the fabric of his coveralls made a slight swishing sound with his long strides.

Catherine was a bit weary and claimed the next pit. She cast a quick glance towards Nick and then over at Grissom before making her way down a ladder. Nick had missed the exchange, not picking up on her silent message towards the supervisor. The younger criminalist was content on just making his way further into the vast terrain. It was somewhat peaceful out here, and he just enjoyed the silence of the walk.

It was down to the two of them. Just two more pits to canvass, and Nick slowed his pace as he approached the next hollowed out section of land. He placed his kit down, pulling off his hat and re-arranging it back on his head. This kind of exercise felt good, but he wanted to get to work. Nick was tired of searching for just the right hole. Something about each one kept his legs moving, never stopping enough to inspect the contents.

Nick opened his kit and pulled out some work gloves. Something in the back of his mind told him this was the one. This was the last stop, no turning back now. If he let Grissom canvass this spot, deep down inside, Nick knew he might loose his nerve. With his superior hanging around he had not option then to begin the grim task ahead.

Nick peered down at the pit, stepping closer to the ladder. The muscles in his back froze, the acid in his calves burned. His skin tingled, and his throat suddenly became parched. His feet wouldn't move as he caught himself staring into the abyss. His mind rewound to blank images, nothing but black canvass where memory normally imposed its will. Nick's ears filled with the sounds of the desert, but a cloud of white noise bounced around the inside of his head. Just faint enough to distract his attention, but nothing detailed enough to identify.

Foreboding. An almost overwhelming sense of dread. Something in the pit of his stomach made him feel almost physically ill. His mind was always sort of fuzzy if he tried to think back.

The sound of shoes crunching soil ripped him from his internal struggle. Nick whipped his head around, his shoulders squared in a defensive posture.

"We really need someone to take some samples back to the lab. I should have mentioned it to you earlier. Saved you the walk."

Nick heard no qualms in Grissom's voice. No squirrelly eye movements or any tale tell signs of ulterior motivation. There was one, of course, and he had been given an out without being pushed or forced.

"I'll take this one. By the time you begin heading back over, I think Sara and Warrick might have some things for you to drop off at Trace."

Grissom was so matter-of-fact with his tone, going on as if Nick was going to pick up his things and immediately start following his suggestion. Nick look back at the pit, telling himself to get over it, as he swung his gaze back over to his supervisor. His hands were all ready rummaging through his kit to find his brush, and a few tools to remove the debris around the bones.

"I got it, Gris. There's one grave for every CSI, no reason for someone to get stuck doing two of them later on."

"Nick."

He ignored him as the younger man tried to ascertain what was the best possible way of descending downward. Nick felt a hand on his shoulder halting any movement.

"Have you really faced anything?"

Nick was a bit dumbfounded at first. He wrinkled his brow as he wet his lips, something he did whenever he was in the middle of thought. He let out an uncomfortable laugh. "What?"

Grissom stood there and for a moment there was silence. His supervisor's expression was somewhat concealed by his straw hat, and little weird square patterns of shadows shifted over his face.

"Do you even realize it? Or have you pushed it so far down that your behavior is a mystery even to you?"

Nick shook his head, not agreeing. His mind wasn't even trying to process what was being said to him. He felt another wave of anger and mortification. It was a set of dark and unfamiliar types of emotions, however, they were becoming more frequent all the time.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Why can't you just drop it?"

Grissom let his hand slip away back to his side. "Because you're unwilling to acknowledge any of it."

"Come on, Grissom. Have you noticed anything about the quality of my work?"

Nick stuffed a few items in the pockets of his coveralls as he prepared to abandon the conversation.

Gil arched an eyebrow. "Yanking on a suspect's hair, slamming him into walls. You think that's something to speak on behalf of you work?"

Nick felt his face flush, "I was conducing an interview with a little girl's life on the line. Interrogations can get heated. It's not like I haven't seen you get overly involved in a case. Throwing a cart out of a the DNA lab comes to mind."

Grissom tilted his head in acceptance of the words. "I've lost my temper during a few cases. I can recall every one of them. There have been several. Many things can cause me a great deal of anger. I'm not immune. But tell me, Nick. When was the last time you manhandled a suspect?"

Nick paused, his lips ready to defend himself. Nothing, no situation could come to mind. There were plenty of times when they all had to shake up a suspect and play the "bad cop" routine. He'd never laid a finger on anyone inside the walls of an interview room.

"I'm fine. As far as I can tell, I'm not the one with any problems. One day you accepted the truth that I was a good CSI. Then sometime after that you had to let go of the notion that I couldn't work solo. Now why don't you go to the next body, do your job, and leave me to do mine!"

Nick sifted through his things one last time, shoving tweezers, baggies, and other essentials into his pockets. With little room left, he pulled out his phone and dropped it unceremoniously to the ground.

"I don't need any looking after. I'm still me, Grissom. When you can learn to trust me again, let me know."

Nick gripped the ladder and began to lower himself into the hole. His boots mashed on the steel rungs loudly until he reached the bottom where he hopped down. He didn't look up to see if Grissom had left. He just sunk down to his knees to begin his excavation.

* * *

He was stuck and so fucking pissed. Nick was on the seventh rung of the ladder, exactly that many steps left before he could crawl out. The only crucial problem was that he couldn't move any further. His left leg was sort of dangling, the pain in his knee so intense that any amount of pressure at all almost blinded him with agony.

Nick had been an athlete and saw what a knee injury could do to the toughest two-ton gorillas. Jocks reduced to a piles of goo and tears. He rested his head against the steel in front of him, his body trembling from the strain. He adjusted his grasp along the sides, glad for the small comfort of his gloves. Sweat was pouring down his face and his damn hat was still laying on the ground from his first fall.

Nick remained as still as possible. Every time he adjusted his weight too much, the damn ladder felt like it was going to tip over and the last thing he needed was the heavy thing to fall on top of him. His muscles were cramping up and if he wasn't careful he was going to slip off again. He peered down at the ground. The pit was dark, completely overcast by shadows.

Despite the sweat, the hair on the back of his neck stood straight on end. A chill snaked down his spine. Nick craned his head upwards- he was halfway out. He reached above him, clung onto the next rung and dragged his body further away from the grave.

Pain, it was all pain. His right leg was wildly protesting all the extra strain, his left one hung loose as he just let it hang freely. Nick hadn't realized he had let out a cry until he had moved up another step. He slung his arm over the next step, and pushed hard on his elbows, using his shoulder strength. Upper body versus lower- it was a good thing he enjoyed staying in shape.

Nick forced his hands to the next rung, his joints popping, the tendons in his neck aching, his veins protruding along his forearms. He pushed and pushed, one step, then the next. He bit his tongue by accident, his struggle with his escape taxing him to his limit. Only a couple more to go.

Nick stenched his arms, his fingers finally touching the ground. He dug and scraped at the dirt, clinging wildly for purchase. He scooted his arms up, dug his elbows into the earth and pulled. He shimmied his body along the dirt, his chest resting over the ground, his feet still on the ladder. With one last single burst of energy, he made a final push with his right foot.

He felt the ladder shudder and fall.

He growled when his foot lost its leverage the ladder tipped over and crashed to the ground. For a few excruciating moments his torso was bent over dirt, with only air separating him from the long fall. Nick's eyes scanned the horizon for any help, any sign that someone would grab his arm and lend him a hand.

No one. It was dark and he was alone. Nick grunted with effort and swung both arms forward along the ground gaining more itches, as he dug his right knee into the side of the trench. With all his might, Nick forced his body back on to stable earth. He cried out in pain and triumph, then quickly rolled to his side when he felt more secure.

Nick panted from the excursion, his knee a mass of painful nerve endings. He couldn't move- his body felt completely spent. He draped an arm over his face.

"I won," he said to no one, and laughed at himself.

Nick's body tensed even more instead of relaxing after his escape. Nick let his arm drop to his side and realized how alone he felt. He turned his head, still merely inches way from the ledge. He was no longer trapped inside the trench, but he wasn't exactly free either.

Nick crawled over to his kit, his hand blindly tapping the ground for an elusive object. His gloved fingers brushed over the phone and he scooped it up and hit the number on speed dial.

He waited for the voice on the other end to pick up.

"What do you need, Nick?" the person on the other end asked in his normally even tone.

"Grissom?"

"Nick?" his supervisor replied, his pitch a bit more worried.

"I need some help." Nick barely whispered back.

"I'll be right there. What's wrong, Nick?"

Nick closed his eyes, hearing movement in the background of the caller. He shook his head. "You're right, Grissom."

The sounds of a person moving blared in his ear, but the noise calmed as the voice returned. "Nick? I'm coming. Tell me what's the matter? Are you all right?"

Nick breathed heavily into the phone. "I know what I did, Grissom. It happened again, but it wasn't the same." Nick laughed sadly, shaking his head. "It wasn't the same... _I'm not the same,"_ he mumbled.

"I'll be there in a few minutes. I'm getting a patrol call to join us. Is that all right?"

Nick wanted to laugh, or maybe scream. Because after so many months, he know that nothing was what it seemed, but maybe... just maybe all would change.

"I think I left another part of me down in another grave." Nick paused squinting at the shadowy figure getting closer. Holding to the phone tightly, he continued. "But maybe you can help find the missing pieces this time?"

Nick let go of the cell before he got a response.

* * *

TBC 


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Stuck In A moment Part 2

Author: Kristen999

Category: Angst/ Character Study

Spoilers: General for season 6. "Gum Drops" and Season 5' "Grave Danger"

Disclaimer: All rights belong to CBS and all their fine writers. Please don't sue. This is just for fun.

Summary: Denial is the enemy. Nick battles himself. Post Season 6 Themes. Nick/Grissom Friendship.

Notes: After a lot of requests and a ton of pondering I wanted to write what needed to be done to complete this one—now Two chapter short. I think this was one of the most challenging things for me to compose. I really tried something different with this story. I hope people enjoy the results. This was posted right before the crashed so I'm not sure how many people got to read the first chapter. So, here is the last half of this coda, thanks to people who asked/demanded that I write more. I succumbed to the pressure. I do listen!

Special thanks to Poncolives for the encouragement and to Everybetty for the quick edit.

* * *

He stood in front of the mirror; he had no clue for how long. His reflection was altered, his image somewhat unrecognizable if he squinted just right. Nick tentatively placed his fingers over his cheeks, letting them slide over the smooth skin, before they caressed downwards, towards his chin. He felt the stubble of tiny, coarse hairs. The unshaven part of his face was robust under his fingertips, stretching over what were once clean portions of an easily readable expression. He touched the hair above his lips; it was slightly thicker, and neatly trimmed.

Nick rested his forehead over the cold hard glass, his eyes still staring downward. He saw only the lower part of a strong jaw line now obscured by the extra growth. The facial hair made him feel reckless, like a cowboy or a movie star.

Like someone else.

Yes, this felt right and wrong at the same time. Something so simple, but the scruff made him look like a stranger. He placed his hands on the smooth texture of the polished glass, letting them feel something the polar opposite from the previous sensations. He wished he could just lose himself in this state; one scrambled between visions of his old self and the new one he was creating.

His dark hair was fully grown, unlike this time last year where it was nearly shaved off his skull. It had been short, rugged, like a Marine. He chuckled, thinking he had gone through some a transition stage after being removed from the grave shift, his exterior a pure reflection of some former skin. Near innocence replaced by a rougher image. Black leather jackets, darker clothes; all outward reminders of the things that had been brewing on the inside.

He had felt lost for a moment; the darkness of the job had almost consumed him. Dead kids, senseless tragedy...all taking its toll. But he had endured, letting all the unpleasant times shape, but not mold him. Nick knew, deep inside, that same resilient person was formulating a plan, and eventually, that stage of his life had faded back to a normal routine. He had adjusted to new hours, different boss, another sort of lifestyle.

Then all that changed too.

Now his hair was thicker, softer; maybe another hint to how he felt inside. He wondered if he should alter that as well, but he really liked the full-grown look and thought this tiny change would be enough.

Nick steadied his hands on the counter of the sink, cold porcelain holding him steady. He took a step back, almost hopping, his left hand holding onto the towel rack. His knee was still a mess from when he had injured it in the pit. He balanced precariously for a moment, then eyed his crutches that rested along the wall near the door to the bathroom.

Forgetting the needed aid, he placed all his weight on both feet, wincing a little, but letting the pain ebb into his body. The throbbing dulled as long as he stood still. Nick never spent much time reflecting in the mirror; he wasn't vain or egotistical, but he took care of his body when he had the time. Keeping in shape was something instilled in him since he was young. Sports, running, weights; it was all an ordinary part of being healthy and releasing stress.

Nick was shirtless, his lean body an example of the devotion he paid to exercise. His high metabolism was a gift, and while it was coupled with decent eating habits, he could not complain. He had well-toned arms; cut abs, nothing too imposing. Nick licked his lips.

Maybe that needed to change as well; perhaps if he hit the gym more often, drank more stringent protein shakes, and added an intensified low-carb diet. He started contemplating another change.

* * *

The phone had slipped from his fingers and instinctively he rolled to his side, facing away from the hole. A dark silhouette came into view, the shape of his supervisor against the darkness. Nick curled his gloved fingers into the dirt, channeling his frustration, energy, and pain into the earth. He heard the sounds of crunching soil and two legs appeared.

Dark blue coveralls, and a set of shoes appeared sideways in his line of sight.

"Nick?"

A voice of deep concern; a hand touched his shoulder.

Nick moved onto his back where he stared up at those same blue eyes from days earlier. Instead of feeling ashamed or anger for what they represented, he looked into them more deeply. Sensing something that was normally well guarded.

"Nick?"

His name had a sharper ring to it. Grissom's voice snapped him out of his reverie.

Nick lifted up his arm, clasped his hand on Grissom's elbow, holding on for dear life.

"Help me find it, Grissom." He swallowed, his mouth dry, voice gravelly.

His supervisor wrinkled his face; his hand never wavered from where it rested on his shoulder. He felt it give him a gentle squeeze.

"I'll do whatever I can, Nick." Grissom took his left hand, and pulled the glove off of it with his teeth. He took his bare fingers and parentally pushed back the strands of hair that were stuck along the younger man's forehead.

"I, promise." Grissom's voice was filled with the utmost sincerity.

Nick recognized that tone; he could depend on it. He could let himself do that.

"Okay," he replied.

Nick heard the approach of other footsteps. Grissom turned his head to address whomever had joined him. The CSI didn't pay attention to the exchange; his supervisor's tone was authoritative, but it was calm.

Grissom leaned over him again. "Can you stand up?"

Nick felt the beginning of a tiny grin. Of course his boss had no idea if he had just suffered a nervous breakdown or not. The blue eyes were studying his answer, his reaction.

"No. I twisted my knee. I can't put any weight on it." Nick explained, his Southern twang a bit heavier than usual.

For a split second he detected the briefest flash of relief on his supervisor's face. Then Grissom's eyes drifted over his form and noted his trembling left leg. The lines of his face deepened, and he reverted into command mode.

"Officer, bring your car closer, please."

Nick noted that an ambulance had not been requested. He was grateful for that and his superior must have noticed it. His shoulder felt another gentle squeeze.

"I know you don't like them very much."

Grissom let his hand linger for a moment, his left one reaching fairly far for Nick's kit. He rummaged through it for a moment and brought out a pocketknife. "Let's see what you've done here."

Nick planted his hands palms down and pushed up on them, his upper body tilted at an angle to see what Grissom was doing. His supervisor started with the fabric right above his boot, and cut upwards over past his knee. Grissom moved the material out of the way, and pulled out a small flashlight out of one of his pockets. He shined the illumination over the angry, swollen joint.

"Nick," he whispered. "Why didn't you wait for help?"

* * *

Nick couldn't understand why he was so fascinated by the thought of making his body stronger. Bulking up would be hard to do now, since his knee injury resulted in his dependence on crutches for the next two weeks. Maybe after his rehabilitation he could increase his work out program, add more weights, and do more running.

No, that was the wrong thing as well. He didn't want to go back to the time when he let adrenaline rule his choices. Chasing after suspects inside an entire room of armed men had not been one of the brightest decisions he'd made in his life, but then he did make it out of that situation unscathed. Nick knew that wasn't the answer.

He hobbled over to his crutches, the bandages wrapped securely around his knee, flexing with the movement. The soft plushiness of his black sweatpants shifted with his weight and change of position. He gripped the devices, the sound of the rubber-tipped ends against linoleum echoed in the bathroom. He made his way to his bedroom, using a crutch to knock the door ajar. He reached his closet and balanced for a moment while he swung it open.

He surveyed his clothing selections. Hanging right in the middle were his current threads. Button-down shirts consisting of whites, dark blues, and his penchant for stripes of late. He recently got into the habit of leaving the top buttons undone, a fad he picked up from Warrick. He smiled for a moment, his fingers pushing way more shirts, the sound of wire scraping the wooden pole the only noise in the room. He fingered a few earth-toned cotton ones, then past that to his collection of sweaters.

He let a crutch fall, leaning on one, as he explored deeper into the confines of the closet for the clothes he no longer wore. Semi-designer shirts, all faded solid colors. He shook his head at every item. A few years ago, he switched to lighter-weight cloths to accommodate his frequent use of his vest. He began shoving clothes out of the way... was there something he was missing?

Feeling dissatisfied with even the simplest option, he left one crutch discarded on the floor and moved over to the side of his bed. Nick laughed. The vest. It was a proud symbol, a great thing for carrying items, and identifying his presence at scenes. It had been a comfort...when had it lost that usefulness?

It didn't matter. He still wore it; the utility was something that was needed, but the overall feeling that went with it, well he wasn't sure if it still remained. Sighing, he glanced at the clock, its face only reminding him of the late hour. His eyes drifted down to a pile of stuff collected at on his nightstand. He began to pick up items and disposed of some of the clutter into his trashcan. He discarded junk until his fingers brushed against a set of matches.

He flipped open the top, scanning the phone number written there. He didn't smoke, but the red-head who scribbled down her info didn't seem to mind, and he had been slightly intoxicated when she handed it to him, whispering things in his ear that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He had forgotten to throw it away; she wasn't his type- no, scratch that. She was gorgeous, but not dating material.

His hands hovered over the waste bin; he fiddled with the matches for a moment. She  
would still be up; they had met and talked because of their mutual work hours. He imagined the beauty of her body in his bed, the carefree wildness of her personality. She was leggy, and obviously knew the physical prowess she possessed by the way she walked. Nick was not prone to one-night stands or aimlessly following his libido around, but something told him to hold on to the number.

Since when did everything become so clear-cut? Black and white? His choices in life had followed the basic principles of right and wrong. His finger fiddled with the matchbook; he imagined the smell of her perfume and the amazingly smooth skin exposed around her neck.

He rubbed at his face contemplating, his fingers brushing over his new facial hair. He let his hand remain on the scuff. What part of him was thinking now? Which fragment of his personality was still in control?

He crumpled the book and tossed it away. A part of him won out----he just didn't know which one.

* * *

Nick's left arm was wrapped around Grissom's shoulder, another one draped over the police officer. They staggered over to the awaiting car; Nick's grunts of pain and heavy breathing punctuated the night.

"How did you climb out of there, if you were in this much pain, Nick?"

He avoided the first question, as he was concentrating too much on getting into the  
backseat of the car to respond to the current one. Nick scooted over to the driver side, his left leg stretched on the floor, his body twisted so as not to bend the swollen joint. He laid his head back to rest over the window, the firm glass a welcome relief from the softness of dirt.

Grissom closed the passenger door to the backseat, the slam jarring Nick into opening his eyes. He was surprised to see the man occupy the same space, instead of taking shotgun in the front. Grissom was talking in his cell phone, informing Catherine about the situation, belaying any worry. The work needed to go on. Yes, everything was fine. Grissom paused at a muffled question, his avoidance to a quick answer instantly grabbing the attention of the younger criminalist.

Grissom turned his head to catch Nick's stare and quickly ended the phone call with an, "I'll call you later."

His supervisor pocketed the cell, matching the gaze. "You want to tell me what happened down there?"

Nick felt the air conditioning of the car; the circulation of air was a nice change to the stale stench of death.

"I slipped, when I tried to get out."

Grissom nodded. "You must have been climbing up fairly quickly. You're not the type to trip or lose your footing."

Nick looked up at the upholstered ceiling, which was at least a different view. "I left my hat," he said, mostly to himself.

"It got knocked off when you landed?"

Nick blinked, still staring upwards. "I couldn't take the walls any longer."

Grissom's voice drifted through the hum of the car. The movement of the vehicle seemed to lull Nick into a semi-peaceful zone. His attention focused on the voice he could count on to be truthful and the brown interior of the car.

"The ditch began to close in on you."

It wasn't a question, just a mere statement and Nick held on to that.

"Not at first." Nick closed his eyes; the bones and skull stared back at him, the only objects in that darkness of dirt.

"Why did you stay down there, Nick? Why not get some fresh air when things started to get too much?"

"I didn't know '_why' _they began to do that." Nick found it hard to stifle his confusion.

"Things didn't click until it was too late," his boss said matter-of-factly.

Nick opened his eyes and looked over at Grissom. "Click?"

Grissom's face was obscured by shadows. They were still out in the desert with only natural lighting, but his distress was evident and it made Nick feel slightly nervous.

Grissom moved forward on the seat, careful not to jostle Nick's leg. "Yeah, it was an  
enclosed space...I mean..." Grissom didn't finish; he just let his voice trail off as he waited for a response.

"Oh. But, I put it all behind me, though." Nick laughed like he always did when he felt a bit embarrassed. He looked at alarmed eyes.

He stared down at his coveralls, rubbing at his throbbing knee. He thought back to the pit, the bones, and dirt. "I-I left myself behind." He looked back up to see the same blue eyes looking much more worried then just moments before. "In the first grave. I mean...I think I did."

There was silence in the car, and Grissom looked around as if searching for guidance. Nick followed his movements, grinning sheepishly. "What?"

Grissom moved closer; he rested a hand on Nick's right leg. "It's not inconceivable that you felt like a part of you went missing, Nick. Your mind did things to cope with the situation during and afterwards."

Nick scrunched up his face. "I don't know what I did," he said, chewing on his bottom lip. "I try not to think about it." He shrugged. "I was rescued and that was enough. Everything in between...well, I don't care to try to fill in those voids right now."

"That won't help you, Nicky." Grissom voice got softer. "I...we, all want you to be whole again."

Nick felt inexplicably torn, and he didn't know why. There was a war raging in his head and the tiniest glimpses of things that seemed way too fuzzy only served to cause him to shut down. He felt his defenses go back up; the conflict between the desire to be strong and beat down any signs of weakness trying to dominate over some little silent voice.

His fingernails scratched at the blue fabric beneath. "No, please, Grissom. I---I can't fight anymore. I get so tired of looking, or wanting to..."

Grissom leaned in and the car shifted causing him to lose his balance. His elbow jarred Nick's injured knee.

Nick gasped and the painful stimulus was enough to allow that shard buried deep inside his soul to break free. With the white hot pain coursing through nerves and muscles his brain unloaded thousands upon thousands of lost seconds of struggling, fear, and all his senses dealing with a perfect recollection; a time capsule of Hell.

Nick grabbed at his kneecap, trying to squash the sensations and block everything out. It was too late and the hot tears of physical injury mixed with the real first release of a simmering kettle.

He didn't say anything else. Didn't mouth any words of anger, or revulsion; he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, rubbing it up and down, words of encouragement drowned out by the floodgates of so many forgotten feelings.

"No!" he shouted. "No, no, no," he muttered like a mantra.

Nick was bent over, his face buried into his soil-stained pant leg, his hand grasping his painful knee. He moved his forehead onto his wrists, the sensation of someone's hand cradling the back of his neck the only thing keep him from tumbling into the cascading memories that seem to assimilate themselves in his mind.

This was not strength; this wasn't putting one foot forward. This was his final fall, stumbling with the shreds of time that had been shoved deep into the recesses of his mind. It was like an electric jolt to have it all come racing back in pure Technicolor.

"I left it all behind, all of it," he whispered, his voice choking.

Nick felt a hand. At first it had been tentative, then the circular motion around his shoulders seemed to ground him, as it brought his focus onto the sensation and not the feelings of the twisted up knots that had suddenly formed in his stomach.

Then he heard a voice; one that had been quietly speaking to him the whole time, but until this moment, had been drowned out.

"Its okay, Nick. No, you didn't. You're here, right here."

It must have been an awkward thing to do. Nick was bent over in the back seat of a patrol car. It was obvious he couldn't move, but it was still a profound shock when he heard Grissom's voice directly in his ear as the older man somehow maneuvered in the tight space to try to get his attention.

Another hand found his arm, and moved down until it found one of Nick's wrists. The younger man felt the pressure of fingers wrapping around it, while his other hand still gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"You don't have to hide anymore. Not from me, not from yourself. Just hold on. We'll find all the pieces."

Nick gulped, knowing that he could let go. He released the death grip over his knee, and latched onto Grissom's hand, and curled his fingers around it. He found an anchor and hoped it would hold him until the return of steady waters.

* * *

Nick found himself in the same spot he had been an hour earlier. He managed to throw on a T-shirt, the words Dallas Cowboys reflected backwards in the mirror. He held on to a razor, the water dripping in a warm flow swirled around his sink. A bottle of shaving cream waited for him, and he pressed down on the button releasing the foam onto his palm. Sticky, soft, and light as air. He leaned forward, his right two fingers dipping into the creamy texture, scooping up a cloud of foam.

Decision time. He arched an eyebrow eying the soft grown-out hair, thinking back. He squashed both palms together, the cream mushed against two layers of skin. Then applied the substance to his cheeks, jaw line, and above his lips.

He took the razor and with smooth, accurate strokes, removed the hair obstructing his face. He brushed the sharp edge over skin, rinsing the razor in warm water, and gliding it over his other cheek. It was cathartic, removing a layer of time. Repeating the action until his skin was bare again but for little splotches of white that he removed by splashing water over the remains.

Nick took his right hand and caressed the fresh skin, admiring the clean look. He squinted again and between his lashes saw the expression there; content, readable...and his own. He gazed at the mirror pleased at what he saw.

Everything down to the slightest quirk had to be questioned, challenged, even dared. Not to find its meaning but to recognize what he had in front of him. The pieces had not been missing- just misplaced. It took looking at other angles and changing perspective. In the end Nick knew what he had been looking for. What he thought he lost was just buried beneath things that were there were trying to cover other associations.

It took prodding and a great fall, but as long as he got back up again and brushed everything off, he would move on. Nick allowed a grin before a knock at his door signaled a visit. He grabbed his crutches and made his way slowly towards his door, knowing who it was before unlocking it.

Grissom entered while Nick closed the door. His supervisor held onto a plastic bag and took a seat on the sofa. Nick followed behind him not saying a word. Nick hopped on one foot and took up the rest of the sofa. He propped up his left leg and waited for the other man to speak.

"Your therapist says you're making progress. That's good to hear."

Nick smiled. Grissom always shot straight from the hip. "Yeah. We actually talk now."

Grissom merely nodded. He handed Nick the bag that he brought in with him. Nick was used to this; his supervisor had visited him a few times. Conversation had been sporadic and sparse, but he didn't mind too much. He rummaged through the bag and pulled out a black hat, the word 'Forensics' neatly stitched on the front.

Nick grinned. Grissom didn't need to come all this way to bring him a replacement hat. He had at least one other stashed away in his locker at work. He put it on; despite being inside, it felt good to wear it. Nick looked over at his supervisor and waited for more words of wisdom. Grissom casually looked back, tilting his head.

"You ready to come back to work next week?"

Nick leaned back against the cushions. "Yes."

Grissom tilted his head. "All of you?'

Nick grinned. "Yeah." He worked his jaw. "I was always here. Thanks for helping me realize that."

His supervisor shook his head. "You don't find things that were never lost. It's just sometimes you need to know when to step back and let yourself be found."

Nick let the words sink in, adding to another precious sea of moments. Each one defining as long as you accepted them at face value.

* * *

The End. For real! 


End file.
